Lines of Reality
by Poisonous Picasso
Summary: I smile and nod once, taking off at full speed, inches behind him, disappearing into an unknown, and vast universe, where nothing can pull me away from him now. And where the lines of conformity are comfortingly blurred. M/N :D I'M FINALLY BACK :D


**Hello **** I've been listening to Vocaloid a lot recently, which is probably a bad idea for a gore writer like myself. O_O Oh well. :P Try to make me stop, bitches, I dare you. I hope you enjoy this story.**

I've always wanted to be normal.

Ever since I was a small child, that's all I've craved; conformity, to be the same shade of grey as everyone else. However, that was never possible.

There were too many sides to me, I was loud, boisterous. I had so many emotions, so many feelings pulsing through the core of who I was, brushing against each other, fighting for my attention. They all needed me, and I needed them. They were my survival, I was their outlet.

Anger controlled me. It was what I always was, a seething iron, an exploding fire. Nobody understood, nobody was allowed to. I never let anyone see behind the sharp flash of my shockingly blue eyes. I never let anyone learn of what thrived behind them.

Nobody but him.

An emotionless wall, someone who had faded even beyond the mandatory gray. He had become translucent, a clear being among the many faces of normalcy. He was impossible to find, and equally as impossible to forget. Once you saw him, you could never lose him, even if you tried.

Even if you went to the extreme lengths that I have.

We were young when I first met him, caught in the horrible tide of pubescence. Hidden behind walls of sexuality and insecurity. There was no one in the world I could talk to, everyone was against me, they were all hiding some humiliating secret behind their smiles, their words of kindness. I hated them all.

I hated everyone, until I met him.

He never spoke a word to me that day, the day I snapped and fell crumpled into an abandoned edge of the orphanage. He never tried to comfort me, merely sat beside me, his hand hovering close to mine, but never actually touching it, never touching me. He played with his toy, making it fly silently, and carelessly through the air.

Ever since the beginning of my life in the vast, white building, I had gone out of my way to avoid him, even hurt him, to the best of my ability. I had never spoken nice words to him, even though he consistently followed me when we were young. He was always kind, quiet and calculating. He was never mean, but he was always smarter, and he seemed strangely smug about that.

That day opened up a new door for me, a door of happiness, of comfort. Behind the door was the last person I expected to trust, and yet, the only person I could. Life progressed, during the days, we feigned hate for each other, but in private, we embraced each other, ourselves. We shared stories, kisses, gentle touches.

Without meaning to, we fell hopelessly in love.

It was a dangerous situation, like plunging off the side of a rock shelf with no bottom in sight. At the same time, it was reassuring, knowing you'd always have someone to hold onto, someone to tell your deepest secrets, and loudest fears to. It was like a gentle whisper of summer rain breezing across rows of piano keys. A beautiful sound, something so rare and beautiful, you could hardly imagine it was real, hardly believe it had ever happened.

And just like the short-lived summer, our love ended quickly, replaced with the same childish hate it had begun with. L's death left us scattered at different spectrums of mental stability, he was calm and cool, and I had snapped. I was finally done with all the disappointment and turmoil in my life. I was ready to help everyone else through that, even if it meant killing them.

I left that night, I took over a whole score of men, I made them mine, made them listen to me. I taught them that happiness could only be brought by another man's suffering. They believed me, like a group of lemmings, they blindly followed me, helping track me towards my target.

It had been years, so many that I could hardly remember the sound of his voice. And yet, as soon as he spoke, I knew it was him. The doors opened with a slow hissing sound, as my heart sped up, I walked with confidence past the men who tried to restrain me, demanding I put my weapons aside. I stepped into the elevator, allowing it to slowly ascend. When it opened, I saw him almost immediately.

A brilliant white against the dark gray of conformity, his eyes flashed, cold and steely against mine. I narrowed my eyes, a small smile touching my features, his face never changed as he looked back down.

"I've been expecting you." His voice was still high-pitched, holding the gentle undertones of a forgotten childhood. A shock of familiarity, of nostalgia burst deep within me, I took a step toward him, and noticed a glint of motion behind him. A tall, dark-haired man had pulled out his gun, narrowed eyes touching mine, my left hand rested itself on the holster of my gun as I moved closer to Near, crouching before him.

He took a deep breath.

"You smell like Matt." His voice was uncertain, filled with the sudden comprehension of betrayal. I blinked once, a flush spreading across my cheeks, confirming his suspicions, his eyes flickered to my face, his mouth twisted downwards, only slightly.

"I came here for one reason." I said softly, he nodded once, his eyes returning to the tower of dice he was currently constructing.

"I know." He said quietly, showing no hint of what he was feeling. He sat back, his knee unconsciously meeting his thin chest. His eyes met mine with sudden intensity, one pale finger moved upwards, twisting into one slender curl of his chin-length white hair. "But you're out of luck, I know nothing more than you do, Mello. We were always evenly matched, you know that."

Red anger burst within me, my fingers twitched, angrily. I wanted to strangle him, bruise his throat, turn his face a brilliant shade of purple. I was paying no attention to his hand, but suddenly I felt it, amazingly cool, tracing along the skin of my scarred, hypsensitive flesh. I twitched away, and his face followed, lips touching mine briefly as he wrapped his arms around my neck, pressing his lips to my ear.

"Mello is always mine." The words were simple, and yet they sent a shudder of yearning down my back. I longed for the years of innocence, of blind love and no secrets. My fingers twisted through the hair that matted softly against the back of his head, and I turned to kiss his temple.

Weeks later, Near was pronounced dead. Killed by some madman in an abandoned warehouse somewhere that no one would guess. The murderer was found dead only hours later. That did nothing to justify it, though. The sense of loss was overwhelming, as though half of me had been ripped away and thrown into a black hole.

I couldn't breathe, but I was far from numb. I was in pain, it was worse than being trapped in an exploded building. It was worse than having half your body engulfed in flame, it was as though a giant set of claws had come down, and ripped haphazardly at me, taking me away and leaving me to slowly bleed out.

Finally I began to conform. I walked with my head down, all my confidence lost. I had no point in life, I was just like every other nobody lost in this great vast universe. I lived to breathe, and breathed to live. It was a neverending cycle.

I, however, was too smart to fall for it. I refused to become the world's lemming. I would not blindly follow it's pointless plan. There was no reason for me to live. There was nothing keeping me here. Not even Matt, he wasn't my reason. He was never my reason. He was a replacement to hide behind, a wall that seperated me from what I really needed, from who I truly craved.

His hands were so warm, so unlike the beautifully arousing cold fingers.

Even now, in the last seconds of my life, I can feel them, my eyes closed, the snow around me stained a bright, blinding red, tinged slightly black from the quantity of life spilling from my veins. I can feel them pricking against the dulled, yet sensitive skin of my marred face. Using the last of my strength, I open my eyes, and there he is.

Pale. Young. Just as I remember him from my childhood.

Wordlessly, his slender fingers reach for me, I lift my heavy arm, meeting him halfway, my large hand wrapping easily over his. The blood from my ruined wrist pours over his white sleeve, staining it with dark drops of precious breath.

Amazingly, he pulls me up.

With a sudden burst of fresh air, I feel my heart's final beat, and I have left the body. The cut on my rapidly thinning wrist closes, and disappears, not even a scar is left behind. My feet are bare, toes curling against the fluffy white snow that I can't feel. I'm young again, I'm thirteen, my hair feather-soft, brushing against my chin.

He smiled knowingly at me, clasping our fingers together, he takes a step, his feet glide over the snow, no indents our made, an echo of a child's laugh echoes across the vast field that I had pathetically crawled from.

The sun seems to grow, engulfing the Earth in its white glory. "Come on!" His voice is a squeal. "It's time to go, I'll race you!" He says, his voice holding a slightly childish hint to it. I smile and nod once, taking off at full speed, inches behind him, disappearing into an unknown, and vast universe, where nothing can pull me away from him now.

And where the lines of conformity are comfortingly blurred.


End file.
